


Another Sunday

by Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Gerry is a child and he has a happy life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21734551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Mayarene%20Rose
Summary: Gerry finds a dog. Eric tries to handle it and feels very ill-equipped.
Relationships: Eric Delano & Gerard Keay
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	Another Sunday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamella/gifts).



> Wishing lamella very happy holidays!
> 
> Hope you like this fic :D

Eric has a lot of regrets in life, but stealing Gerry away and running the hell away from London is definitely not one of them. Getting him away from all that nonsense can only be the right decision, no matter the circumstance. 

And, he has help, thank god. It had been a bit of a shock to his mother when he suddenly turned up with his eyes gouged out, and trying to harangue an energetic three-year-old in his arms, but she took it in stride. Amazing woman, his mum is.

So yeah years pass, and most of them are good. It’s just that… Just that… 

Gerry’s eight. It doesn’t matter how much of an easygoing kid he is, there’s no such thing as an _easy_ eight-year-old.

“Gerry,” he calls out. “Gerry where are you? It’s time for lunch.”

No answer. Eric sighs and makes his way towards the backdoor. The house is a bit cluttered, but he’s gotten used to it. He navigates it easily enough.

After spending his formative years in London, Gerry’s slowly discovering that the outdoors exist and it’s not actually terrible. To his immense delight. It’s a bit of a problem. Eric doesn’t mind, really, but he wishes his son wasn’t ridiculously good at disappearing at every opportunity. 

He steps out into the garden. It’s a warm summer day and the ground is hard and solid beneath his feet. If he’s lucky, Gerry stayed within the property and is just digging through the flower beds again.

His mum would hate it, of course, but there are worse things than a lecture. 

(There’s a lot of times when Eric isn’t lucky.

Some days, it’s fine. _Most_ days, it’s fine. His mum usually notices before he does, or if she doesn’t, Eric tells her. She drags Gerry back home. Delighted and completely filthy, she tells Eric in a fond voice that sounds annoyed to anyone who doesn’t know her.

Some days, though. Getting fewer as time passes by, but some days, it’s not like that. Some days the fear’s still there. Some days, when Gerry doesn’t answer his calls, his heart still jumps in his throat.

It’s the silence of an empty room. Or maybe it’s the dark. It’s been years, but he never really gets used to it.

Maybe it’s that feeling of being _watched_ that he still can’t quite shake, no matter how far he runs.

But that’s just _some_ days. Things are better now. 

They’re much, much better now.)

“Dad?”

Eric tilts his head towards the sound of his voice. The kid hadn’t gone that far, then, but there’s that specific brand of ‘I definitely did nothing wrong, Dad’ in his voice that means he has definitely done something he wasn’t supposed to. 

He’s a bit grateful he can’t see the state of the boy. Something to be said about plausible deniability and all that. 

(Most days, Eric is certain he’s not at all qualified to be a father. Especially not to a boy like Gerry. He deserves someone better. Someone who knows what they’re doing, at the very least.

Then, he remembers Mary and thinks, well, he can’t possibly be worse than her, can he?

It is, admittedly, not a very high bar to set, but he does what he can.)

He’s less glad that he thinks he can hear some sniffing. And whining. He’s pretty sure he’s figured out what Gerry’s been spending so much with and really wishes he didn’t.

“So,” Eric says, going for casual. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing,” Gerry squeaks. That is definitely a very distinctive sound coming from behind him.

“Is that so?” Eric says. 

“Yup,” Gerry says. “Absolutely nothing here.”

Eric waits. He waits some more. He waits a little more.

Behind Gerry, a dog barks.

Eric raises an eyebrow. 

For a moment, all he hears is the rustling of the wind and Gerry fidgeting. And the dog continuing to keen. Can’t forget the keening dog.

“Your grandmother doesn’t like dogs,” Eric says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gerry says. “There’s no dog here.”

“Gerry.”

“I couldn’t just leave him there!” Gerry protests. “He was all sad and pathetic!”

The dog, for added effect, whimpers pathetically.

Eric sighs. On one hand, his mum never really had a fondness for animals and it’s not like Eric can keep track of a dog bounding up and down the house on his own. 

On the other hand, Eric has a lot of trouble saying no to his son.

(Eric loves dogs. He had a dog back in London, before he got sucked into the Institute. Mary hated it and he eventually had to get rid of the thing.

He still misses him sometimes.)

Gerry is perfectly aware that Eric can’t actually say no to him. He knows it quite well and tends to take advantage of that fact. Both of them know full-well he’s being manipulated. Gerry never feels the need to be subtle about it. 

Eric sighs again.

“How filthy is it?” he asks.

“I cleaned him up!” Gerry sounds insulted and maybe a little bit hurt. “Washed him down with the hose and everything. He was all covered in mud and fleas when I found him and he was sad looking, so I took him back home. I couldn’t just leave him there. He needs someone to take care of him.”

That does sound like something Gerry would do. The boy’s nothing if not thorough.

“Does it have a collar?”

Gerry starts to mumble something, realizes he’s mumbling, and speaks up, saying, “Don’t think so. Looked abandoned.” He doesn’t _sound_ like he’s lying, but Eric’s already established that he’s very bad at this.

The dog whimpers again.

Eric sighs, for a third time. One day. One day soon, he’s going to have to learn how to say no to his son. “Well, get on with it then.” He jerks his head towards the back door. “Bring him in. I’m sure we can find something to feed him. But you’re the one who’s going to explain everything to your grandmother. She really doesn’t like dogs.”

Obviously, today is not that day.

All of a sudden, there’s an eight-year-old wrapped around him. Eric hugs him back automatically. Gerry is warm and strong, smelling of earth and sweat and wet dog. His mum tells him the boy’s tall for his age.

Eric strokes his son’s head and smiles.

“I love you, Dad,” Gerry says. “You’re the best.” He lets go, and there’s the sound of clambering of paws on hardened soil. A large, wet tongue starts licking his hands, and his fingers brush against long, soft fur.

Eric’s always loved large dogs, and this one feels particularly adorable. He can see why his son grew fond of it so quickly.

“You’re still explaining this to your grandmother,” he says, and tries to keep the amusement out of his voice.


End file.
